


Tachnir

by Chuizard



Series: Lingles RPs [4]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Beastfolk, Blood and Injury, Drow, Half-Elves, M/M, Slave Trade, Slavery, Slow Romance, Tieflings, minor characters - Freeform, yes there's a boner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuizard/pseuds/Chuizard
Summary: Luck sneaks off of the dragonborn's Stronghold Island and is tailed by Jingles. The jester suspects that this man is up to no good and wants proof before he takes any further actions.Posting the roleplays from Discord for myself and Ali (foreignobjecticus). If you happen to read them and like them somehow let us know! There may be two distinct writing styles in here because it's... well... a roleplay.Jingles belongs to me and Luck (aka Kratis) belongs to Ali (foreignobjecticus). This was posted with permission from both parties.Beldroth, Lias, Borox, and Dyil belong to Ali (foreignobjecticus).Balasar, Pyrrhos, and Leire are mine.
Relationships: Luck/Jingles
Series: Lingles RPs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734376
Kudos: 1





	Tachnir

The Moon Festival was ready to start tomorrow and the dragonborn across the Island were practically buzzing with anticipation. Luck didn’t really understand their excitement for the moon, but he wasn’t going to judge when their frenzied preparations had handed his escape to him right on a silver platter. Trade ships (which were apparently a rarity for the Island) were docking by the dozen, bringing in a whole range of goods from exotic foods and wines to ceramics, decorations, and even fireworks. Why dragonborns found fireworks so great Luck would never know, but despite their ability to make fire, they were _obsessed_ with pyrotechnics. If there were a gunpowder store on the Island, he was sure the place would have been blown up by now. The tiefling had expressed just this sentiment to Pipsqueak last night, and the bird had nearly choked on their drink and squawked up the whole dinner hall with what he presumed was laughter. It was still early in the morning and the sun was barely rising when the trade ships began to pick up their sails and weigh anchor. With a jump, Luck tightened his grip on his pack and dashed down to the docks and onto Bren’s china ship.

“There’s no rush, boy; I’ve got to wait for the ships ahead of me to pass the sandbank before we can depart,” the human laughed and clapped Luck on the back a little too hard. Bren was a stocky-looking human with a bald head and blue eyes that matched the china on board his ship. As the deck rocked with the swells of the larger ships, glassware below deck tinkled like a wind-chime in the breeze. It was a noisy ship but a far sight better than the livestock ship Luck had _almost_ gotten passage on the night before. The tinkling of the glass and china on the shelves below deck was almost soothing, and did well to remind Luck of the reason he’d sought passage off the Island as inconspicuously as he could; Jingles. Their fight in the chapel was still fresh on Luck’s mind, and in the month since the fight he’d effectively _disappeared_ from the slave trade. Whenever they sold victims, traders would always keep a list of who they bought from and where and when; it was like a tracking system for both the slaves _and_ the slavers. Luck’s employer therefore _always_ knew where he was, so it would be a shock for the bastard to have suddenly lost track of his tiefling slaver – there weren’t very many like him, after all.

The trip to Crestport had been a mistake, and despite the _**assassination**_ taking a lot of the heat off of him, Luck was sure someone would have recognised him while he was back in the city. Beldroth would have killed him in an instant, but the dress had given him enough cover to see what was going on in the city. There were tieflings in regal gowns, sure, but there were _slaves_ , and plenty of them judging by the amount he saw at the party. _You’ve broken the deal_ Luck seethed with the knowledge that the work he’d done for Beldroth had been in vain and tieflings were more oppressed now than they _ever_ had been in Crestport before he left. What a waste of twenty years… And now, here he was on a trade ship heading out from a dragonborn island to reach an old bartering island about a day’s sail from here. It was rather lucky they’d flown low over the ocean on their way back from Crestport: it had given Luck the chance to see just where their secret little island was located in the ocean, and it couldn’t have been better.

“Once we reach Tachnir it’ll be two days before my men can sail back to reach you,” Bren repeated again as deckhands began clambering up the masts and rigging above them in preparation to sail. Luck breathed in the salty air and smiled. It’d been too long since he’d been on a proper ship. “That’s all the time I’ll need,” Luck replied and handed over his pack to Bren’s outstretched hand. The Captain shifted the strap across his shoulder and nodded. “That’s all you’ll get. Go talk to the bosun and make yourself useful,” Bren said in a more serious tone and disappeared into his cabin as the coxswain steered them clear of the port. A whistle blew from somewhere forward of the ship and Luck was sent up the mizzen mast in a flurry of activity, his heart beating anew as the sails billowed and caught the offshore breeze and lurched the ship out to sea.

Festivals was something Jingles usually enjoyed, but he found that the increased activity on the island made him uneasy. It was hard enough to get some privacy on the island. The jester always had to wait until some ungodly hour to bathe alone and he stubbornly still slept outside. By now he had gotten a tent set up outside of the town. Balasar- being a concerned friend- had asked him why he didn't just sleep in the bunkhouse. Jingles simply told the dragonborn he prefers to sleep outside. While this answer wasn't exactly true, it did satisfy the dragonborn's curiosity. No one else really bothered him about it or even noticed that the jester wasn't taking residence in the bunkhouse. Jingles was awake before the sun came up. Sleep was getting harder and harder to come by for him. Despite this, the jester managed to still keep up his high energy façade with only about four hours of sleep per night. During his spare time he did stretches and exercises to keep himself nimble and flexible for his performances. He also had been keeping an eye on Luck. Whether the tiefling noticed or not, Jingles had been watching him for some time. The jester was paranoid that if given the chance the man would out him as a slave or try and contact someone about him being an escapee. He was sure Luck would have pulled something like that back at Crestport, but he supposed killing the king was a big enough distraction to prevent anything like that from happening. Still... it was odd of Luck to try and bail him out of jail, even if it was just with pie. Why wouldn't he just let him rot in jail? Was he better alive as a slave than executed as an assassin?

He brought himself back to reality with a shake of his head. The bells on his cowl jingled softly. That's about when he spotted Luck leaving the bunkhouse. Jingles' heart skipped a beat as he wondered what on earth the man was doing up so early. This was rather suspicious, so the jester followed at a distance. He soon discovered that the man was hitching a ride on one of the trade ships. This only aroused more suspicion. Why was Luck leaving the island? Where was he going? He hadn't told anyone in the party that he was going somewhere, but Jingles _had_ to know. If Luck was sneaking off somewhere, his gut told him it wasn't to do anything good. Without much planning, Jingles snuck onto the ship with relative ease. The crew seemed to be busy preparing to set sail or doing some last minute unloading, so it was easy to slip by them. Not to mention that it was still pretty dark outside. Even with his red costume, it was hard to see the jester if you weren't looking. The bells on his costume jingled of course, but it sounded fairly similar to the clinks of the fine china on the ship. Whatever the jester did to get so lucky, he wasn't going to question it. He decided to hide within the bowels of the ship, near where the china was being stored. Jingles figured if his bells jingled with the rocking of the ship here it would go unnoticed.

It wasn't long before the ship left the docks. Jingles felt anxious immediately. He began to question his decisions. Was he really about to follow Luck- a potentially dangerous man- off of the island to see what shady business he was up to? Well it was too late to bail now, unless he wanted to swim in the ocean back to the island... The jester tried to calm himself and instill some confidence. He had been keeping a close eye on Luck for weeks and hadn't been caught or questioned by the man yet. Surely he could do the same off of the island. Still... his stomach churned and cramped. Maybe it was more than just nerves that was bothering him. Jingles had never been so grateful to had skipped breakfast.

After Bren’s ship had cleared the calm waters of the bay, the sails picked up the strong westerly and carried their ship across the sea at a record pace. From his perch halfway up the mizzen mast, Luck held tight to the crossbar with his tail as the ship heaved with the waves. “Ah-ha!” he blurted out in excitement as a particularly large wave broke across the bow and sprayed the whole ship. _God I’ve missed this._ The journey to Tachnir was smooth sailing and made quick by the strong prevailing winds. They reached the bay by early afternoon and had docked after a quick lunch on the ship. Luck thanked Bren once more for the passage and confirmed another ship would be out his way in two days’ time. So with everything arranged, he was free to step back into the port-side town and make a call on a familiar old business partner.

Tachnir itself was little more than a tradepost; a dot in the ocean used as a way-point for travelers and hub for buying and selling goods both common and exotic. While Bren would probably sweep up a small fortune trading his glassware and china in the dockside markets, there was a _lot more_ gold to be made here provided you had the right wares. Luck walked through the streets with a purposeful stride, keenly aware of the path he was taking as he’d trodden it so many times before. A kind-looking wiry tiefling waved a greeting to him through the crowded streets, as did a tall green lizardfolk, and at a pub he passed by, Luck even stopped to interrupt a game of checkers. “King me,” he demanded, one hand reaching out to jump the white pieces over the blacks in a pattern that clearly caught the black player off guard. “What the- **Luck**! You bastard, where’ve you been?” the old tiefling stood up so fast that counters spilled across the table onto the younger tiefling he’d been playing. The older, dark-red man stood and wrapped Luck in a brief hug while the unwitting victor of their checkers game simply waved at Luck as he lit a pipe.

“I’ve been everywhere Lias, you know that,” Luck winked as he pulled back and turned to whisper in the old man’s ear. “Need to talk to you tonight.” “I’m always here,” Lias sat down and scooped the counters back across the table and divided them up. “Now you can watch us play or you can leave,” he chuckled, reaching forward to take the pipe from his opponent’s lips and puff vigorously. Luck left with a smile and a wave, carrying on through the winding roads until the buildings closed off the paths and blocked the sun from reaching the alleyways. Down one of the shadiest walks, Luck turned and pounded on the side of a wooden building. His fists thudded against the rough wood in a simple pattern, and he then quickly turned to walk back up the alley. He passed a few people huddled against the walls – all people hard on their luck even in the prosperous town – and turned back to the main street just as a door opened seemingly of its own accord. Without hesitation, Luck slipped inside and the door banged shut behind him.

Jingles' experience on the ship was not pleasant. Every time the boat rocked between waves, his stomach did flips. He was curled up and holding his midsection for most of the trip and tried his best to focus on anything that wasn't movement. The jester rode on dragons and did backflips on a daily basis. He never would have thought something like the rocking of a ship would bother him so much. It felt like ages until the rocking eased up. Jingles prayed that the ship had docked. He didn't care where he was and had nearly forgotten about Luck. He just wanted off of this damn boat before he puked up whatever bile his stomach could manage to push out. Jingles did hesitate a little once he saw how bright it was outside. It wouldn't be as easy to sneak off of the ship in the middle of the day. He waited until he couldn't hear any footsteps and bolted off the ship and onto the docks. The bells on his costume jingled violently and loudly. "H-hey!" Someone shouted. Jingles had been spotted by one of the crew. The jester didn't waste any time and dashed into the town. Dumbfounded that they had just saw a jester practically leap off their ship and run off, the crew member decided against following. Little guy was too fast for them anyways. Still it was something to report after lunch... At least it didn't look like the jester had any stolen goods with him. Jingles ran until he got behind a building and into the nearest empty alleyway. He peaked out and looked around. It didn't look like anyone had followed him. He took in a deep breath and leaned against the wall for support. Jingles took his time trying to recover from how dizzy he was. Unfortunately he could no longer hold in the urge to vomit. The mix of panic and nausea got to him and he bent over to cough up some stomach acid. Afterwards the nausea did subside. The jester carefully wiped his mouth.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' He scolded himself. Not only was he in a town he wasn't familiar with, but now he had no idea where Luck was. Jingles thought of the possibilities. Either Luck was still on the ship or... somewhere in town. That didn't really narrow it down much. After he got his bearings, Jingles casted a bit of magic on himself. His jester costume was too attention grabbing. A simple Disguise Self spell remedied this. Now he looked like a young human male with brown hair, tanned skin, and golden eyes. Jingles chose to look like this to 'blend' in with the town. Humans were common after all. Jingles exited the alley way to look around. He was searching for Luck of course, but he couldn't help but to be curious about the town he was currently in. He soon discovered that maybe a human wasn't the best choice to disguise himself as. Many beastfolk roamed the streets. Jingles was nearly in awe with how many tieflings he saw. In Crestport tieflings were rather rare, and if you did see one they were most likely a slave. During his travels, Jingles found tieflings to be few and far between as well, but this place had a whole community of tieflings! He never knew such places existed. He found himself exploring the town a little and looking at the many stalls the market had. Despite being disguised as a human, most of the folks here were super friendly. There were only brief exchanges between him and a few stall owners. Just some 'hello's and 'can I help you's. Jingles smiled at them and usually said something like 'I'm just looking'.

Jingles eventually spotted Luck just as the tiefling entered a building. He wasted no time going up to it. He couldn't just waltz in the front door. There had to be a way to sneak inside. Jingles went around the building and looked for an alternative way to get in. There were windows, but only on the second floor. To anyone else this might be a problem, but to Jingles? This wouldn't be the first time he has done something like this. He found a good space in-between buildings and then leaped between the walls to climb up them. Jingles easily got onto the window sill. It was fortunate for the jester that the window was not locked. He slipped into the building with silent grace.

“Been a long time since I’ve seen those stunted horns,” a beastwoman spoke out loud as Luck approached the front desk of the administration building he’d slipped into. “Borox around?” Luck ignored the woman’s jibe; a goat woman with four horns could gloat all she liked, but in Luck’s opinion she looked ridiculous.

“He’s in his office. Go ahead,” she bleated, waving lazily towards the hallway behind her. Luck didn’t stop as he walked past the desk and up a long set of staircases to reach the second floor. From the higher floor, it was easy to see out over the township and marketplace below the admin building. This part of the town called the Slaver’s Area for an obvious reason; from this vantage point he could see everything from the holding houses to the slave market and everything beyond. Tachnir had a marked decline on its west side, and this was where one needed to go if they wanted something more than a common whore. Here, nestled between blank buildings and homeless beastfolk lay the snuff houses and fetish dens that you heard freakish stories about but none had ever set foot in them. Looking further west and the brothels and drug resorts turned even less savoury, but Luck had no desire to head out that far. It said a lot about the unassuming town if _Luck_ had only made it so far west to speak to the slavers. As he stared out the window looking down at the ongoing afternoon auction, a rustle and creaking of wood alerted him to the opening office door. The door swung in on itself and a huge bull beastfolk stopped in his tracks, wad of paper in his hand clenched at the sight of the tiefling.

“Luck-” he looked surprised briefly before irritation washed over his features and he retreated back into his lightless office. “You’ve been selling firsthand again, haven’t you?” the bull accused, his voice reverberating loudly in the room. Luck didn’t bother to close the office door as he followed; Borox’s voice would have carried through the whole building regardless. “Gives me a bigger cut, Ox,” Luck smirked as the bull huffed. He _hated_ being called Ox, lamenting his appropriate name. He didn’t often take much shit from Luck. “Yeah and you know that if you keep it up we’ll have to break your legs,” he warned. Borox flopped down into his mammoth chair which creaked under his weight. “I don’t have to tell you we haven’t seen your face in a while now. What are you doing up in my office?” The gentle smirk on Luck’s face melted away and he turned on his most Infernal frown, eyes seeming to glow in the gloom of the office. It was a show and he knew it’d work on the beastfolk.

“I’ve been back to Crestport, would you believe it, Ox? _Tieflings everywhere._ ” Luck didn’t have to say more to get the bull sweating. Borox dropped the papers he was clutching to his desk and heaved out a thoroughly-bovine huff through his nose. “We don’t sell tieflings here-” “Oh _no_ , but you trade directly under Beldroth, don’t you? It’s all well and good to run the slaver’s waypoint here on Tachnir of _all places_ \- ‘just make sure none of the little devils come through _our_ doors’ and then ship them all off through Crestport where the Big Man can sell as he pleases. ‘None of our business’.” “It’s **not** our business!” Borox yelled back, hackles raised at Luck’s indignance. “We’ve never sold a tiefling here for _obvious reasons_ -”

“You _KNEW_ my motivations, Borox!” Luck shot up from his chair and it crashed to the floor behind him. The tiefling’s skin felt hot with the anger that boiled over now. _Years_ of selling off innocents to protect his kind had been for nothing, and the bitter indignity of having had to find that out for _himself_ in Crestport was what stung now. He’d based himself off the one tiefling colony where he could meet Beldroth’s demands without resistance and it’d been a filthy lie the whole time. But Beldroth had been the idiot from the beginning really and there hadn’t been anyone Luck personally cared to protect for a _long time_. He could have stopped, sure, but he felt a duty to his kind and the hideous things he’d seen and done had been to protect people from living and perishing just as his victims. The gloves were off again, just as they’d been back when the tieflings fell in Crestport all those years ago. _**Shouldn’t have fucked with Kratis.**_

“I’d got a couple of dragonborns I was sending your way and I called them back and sold them firsthand,” Luck explained with fire in his eyes and pulled out a hefty coin purse concealed deep in his jacket. The material could hardly contain the coins within. Luck hurled the purse down and the weight made Borox’s desk jump. “I _want_ to work with you, Borox. I trust you – as a seller at least; your morals are shot to Hell,” he let the irony slide past unnoticed. “But I want your assurance that you’ll stop trading with Beldroth.” “And trade with WHO then, Luck?” Borox bellowed, slamming his fists down on the desk. “Crestport is closer than any other hub and we’ve got all our best business connections there.”

Luck gestured at the purse which Borox had until now ignored. With a wary eye at the tiefling, he reached forward and opened the purse, letting the coins spill out onto his desk. If he had been a more honourable man, he would have winced knowing the sound of scattering coins had probably carried all the way down to reception. The bull dug through the bag greedily, searching for coins in its deepest end. He pulled a few out and bit at them to prove their worth and huffed through his nose again as he considered the implications of stopping trade with Crestport. After all… it was doable… and the hundreds of gold coins certainly sweetened the deal. Eventually, Luck prompted the beastfolk: “Have we got a deal?” He shot his hand out across the desk for Borox to take, and the bull rose slowly, not meeting the tiefling’s eye until he was sure. “You’re persistent, Luck.” “There’s nothing a little gold can’t fix now, is there Ox?”

Jingles found a spot in to hide in before Luck came upstairs. Thankfully this building was unusually dark inside, so it made it even easier to hide. He silently watched Luck stare out a window. The jester practically held his breath and held as still as possible to prevent his bells from jingling and giving him away. Finally the man entered another room. Huh... He didn't close the door behind him. That would definitely make it easier to eavesdrop. He inched closer to the doorway as slow as possible, but stayed low and out of sight. Jingles listened carefully to the conversation- which thankfully had nothing to do with him. He did scowl when he heard Luck was still selling slaves though. '...We've never sold a tiefling here...' Hadn't Luck said something about not selling tieflings before? Jingles had been so angry with him back at the chapel, he was having some trouble recalling the conversation. Did Luck really think not selling on specific kind of person justified selling all the others? Jingles gritted his teeth. Oh, it certainly did not. '...I'd got a couple of dragonborns ... sold them firsthand...' _Dragonborns?_ Luck had the _nerve_ to sell _**dragonborns**_ when they were working with them? It took all of Jingles' will to not spring up from his hiding place and attack Luck then and there. Damn that man! Damn him to Hell! Jingles had heard enough. He moved away from the door and stood up straight to exit out the same window he had entered in. Someone grabbed his shoulder. "And where do you think you're going...?" A voice from behind whispered into his ear. Whoever they were, they were trying to be quiet. They didn't want to cause a scene. Jingles' heart skipped a beat. He had been caught. Memories from when he got captured after killing King Sam flashed through his mind. No. No! He wasn't going to let that happen again!

"Never thought I'd find a spy he--" The sentence was cut short as Jingles jabbed his elbow into the beastfolk's gut. Air exited their lungs and they let go of the jester. Jingles took this opportunity and literally leapt for the window. "Oh _no_ you don't!" He was grabbed by the back of his collar of his disguised costume. Hidden bells jingled loudly in distress as the jester was nearly choked. Jingles was nearly out the window when he was caught. His feet were planted on the window sill and his hands gripped the edges of the window opening. He glared back at his pursuer. It was a black feline-like beastfolk with piercing yellow eyes and bared fangs. He looked like he was struggling to keep a hold onto Jingles' collar. "Don't make me fuckin' drop you!" He hissed. The cat man tried pulling Jingles back inside, but the Jester wasn't willing. Jingles used a mix of his weight and own strength to pull away. A distinct _**rrrriip**_ sound was heard and then the jester broke free. He fell onto the ground, but tumbled to reduce the harshness of the landing. He didn't hesitate to run after getting back onto his feet. "FUCK!" The beastfolk nearly roared as he saw what looked like to be a young human escape. He ran downstairs and burst out front door. He looked where the jester had ran, but saw no sign of him. Little bastard got away. He growled and stormed back inside not wanting to blindly run into crowds in search for one boy. The only thing he had gotten out of the whole ordeal was a piece of shirt... or at least that's what he assumed it was. The torn fabric was red, but the shirt the little intruder was wearing was more of a cream color. Pyrrhos was furious. He sniffed the fabric to see if there was a distinct scent as he went back up the stairs. Was he so mad that his nose had gone bad? This didn't smell like any human... it actually smelled like a _tiefling_ of all things and there was only one tiefling visitor in the building right now.

"AYE BOROX!" Pyrrhos charged into the office and slammed the red fabric down on the desk. "Do you have any idea who the hell would be eavesdropping on this conversation of yours?" He asked and pointed at the red fabric like it was some amazing clue that would reveal the answer. He eyed Luck with suspicion. Despite being a beastfolk himself and living in Tachnir, he always suspected tieflings brought trouble with them.

April 22, 2019

Just as they’d shaken hands and Luck was preparing to leave, Borox’s old righthand man Pyrrhos came barrelling into the room and slammed a scrap of material onto the table. "Do you have any idea who the hell would be eavesdropping on this conversation of yours?" the look he gave Luck was enough to earn himself a sneer back. The panther had never gotten on well with tieflings and he always wondered how Pyrrhos had managed to get himself involved on the tiefling island all considered. The red scrap of material trapped under his claws was oddly familiar, and it took a good few seconds to Luck to make the association to the jester he’d left back on the dragonborn Island. _Could he be following me?_ Luck thought very briefly and stared hard at the scrap of silk. _It could just be a coincidence._ If Jingles HAD, for some mad reason, followed him out to Tachnir and overhead the conversation, Luck could imagine the drow would have been even more angry than he already was. _It mustn’t have been him,_ Luck reasoned as he straightened his coat and smiled. _If it’d been Jingles, he would have flipped in and **murdered** me when he heard the bluff about the dragonborns._ Whoever _had_ heard the conversation, it didn’t matter; they’d played straight into Luck’s hand. Why else would he leave the door open during a bribery deal; I mean, _really?_

“You got someone following you?” Borox snarled at Luck as he hastily swept the gold coins into the drawer of his desk without care for the noise it made. “What did they look like, Pyrrhos?” “Short little human,” Pyrrhos growled. “But _this_ smells like tiefling…” he whipped up the scrap of cloth and Luck snorted. What a _weirdo_ going around sniffing scraps of cloth he rips off of poor innocent boys. _He ought to be locked up._ “I think I’d know if someone was following me,” Luck cut back and ignored Pyrrhos as best he could. “I’ll see you around, Borox.” “Luck,” the bull nodded and turned back to the papers he’d dumped on his desk before his deal. As he departed, Luck could see Pyrrhos trying to argue with his boss, but the words were falling on deaf ears by the sound of it. Luck left the administration building and turned to the east to head back towards the main markets.

_You’re just paranoid,_ he laughed to himself as he walked down the opposite side of the pub Lias was drinking in. He’d have to see the old tiefling later tonight; now wasn’t the time to be making deals with that old trickster, and if Jingles _was_ , for some _unknown reason_ , actually following him around… well, it wouldn’t do good to be seen at the pub. Luck cast a few furtive glances around himself before carrying on, shaking his head as he dismissed the idea from his mind once and for all. Pyrrhos had been banging on about the material smelling of tiefling anyway -Luck knew he would have identified the drow in a heartbeat. Instead, Luck turned his feet towards the Portside Markets. He had a good few hours to kill before night set in and he’d been in the market for a new waistcoat for _months_ since a certain jester had cut it to pieces. _Maybe,_ a small glimmer of hope spurred his feet on to hurry, _I might just find a gift for him here._ He knew just what he wanted to get the jester as a token of peace. He hoped it would work.

Jingles ran as fast and far as he could until he was forced to slow down into the mix of people at the markets. Oh, thank the gods he was at the market stalls again! He looked behind himself. There was no mad panther man tearing through the street after him. The jester let out a sigh of relief but... now he was wondering what he should do. He had no idea where Luck was going to next and there was no way he was ever going near that building again. He let himself wander around for a little bit, then stopped to check his pockets. He hoped he had _some_ money on him. He could use it to get back to the stronghold or maybe rent a room at the local inn here. Unfortunately the jester found out that all his money was back on the island. Jingles silently scolded himself again for being so stupid and his lack of planning. He was going to have to find a way back on his own without any money. Usually this wouldn't be a problem. Jingles knew his performances could easily bring in some cash and earn him a free stay at the inn if he needed, but if he didn't want to be discovered by Luck he wouldn't be able to. One thing he did have on him was his dagger. The jester usually kept one hidden on his person for obvious reasons. Jingles thought about possibly selling it, but in the end he figured he wouldn't get much money for it anyways. Maybe he'd get enough to stay at the inn if he was lucky, but there was no way he'd get enough to get off this island. His thoughts were interrupted when a familiar tiefling passed right by him. He blinked in confusion for a moment. Oh, right! Of course the man wouldn't recognize him. He still had his disguise spell up. Jingles then realized he could follow the man in plain sight. This worked in the jester's favor for a number of reasons, but for now he knew that Luck would have a way to get off the island... which would probably mean Jingles would have to sneak onto another ship. At least it was better than being stranded on this island.

He kept a distance from the tiefling and watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to look at some stalls. Jingles quietly seethed and did his best not to glare at Luck. He honestly wanted to kill him and make him _pay_ for selling more slaves, but he knew he couldn't do such a thing out here. There were too many witnesses and an attack out here would create too big of a scene. Jingles would just have to keep following the man and wait for a chance to confront him.

“I’ll give you fifteen gold,” Luck bartered and the shopkeep finally nodded their head in assent. They’d certainly played the game hard. Luck fished the coins from his purse and slipped the item into the cavernous pockets of his inner coat along with the stylish new waistcoat he’d picked up the hour before. The sun had long since set and the market was quietening down for the night… bar the loud squawks and grunts from the livestock side of the market. Luck was glad the hotel he would be staying at was on the opposite side of the markets. Luck made his way leisurely down to the pub where he’d left Lias earlier that afternoon. The place was packed and Luck was fortunate to find himself a table pressed into the small corner of the dining area. The roof and wall went up at an angle here and Luck had to stoop his back to sit. His horns still lightly grazed against the ceiling and so, when he looked up at the sudden presence cramming himself into the chair opposite him, Luck couldn’t do anything to stop himself banging his horns into the plaster so hard he thought he might faint.

“Horns aren’t stuck now, are they?” Lias laughed as he watched his boy pull up a chair to the table and Luck keeled forwards rubbing his horns gently. “They don’t point up,” he ground out and sighed, looking across at the two tieflings. “Not too early to chat?” he asked, spearing his beef chunk onto his fork and tearing into the flesh with sharp teeth. It felt good to eat properly – for tieflings _and_ beastfolk, there was no shame in ripping a chunk of meat apart with the teeth… but the table manners never went over so well with the other races. “It’s supper; no one’s paying us any more attention than usual, _and_ you’ve gone and found us the smallest corner in the whole damned pub,” Lias chuckled and straightened himself as best he could in the alcove. He was taller than Luck so it was probably even less comfortable for him. “What are you doing back here, boy?” the older tiefling leaned in and spoke with a low rumble. “Word is you headed straight back to Borox’s compound after we caught up.” “Who’s word?”

“Dyil,” Lias crooked his head towards the young tiefling beside him but Dyil had already disappeared in a puff of pipe smoke. “I had business to attend to. I’ve set something up with Ox, and I need you to play the next part if you’re willing.” This was the bigger risk of the plan, Luck realised with a clenching feeling in his gut. He _knew_ Borox would be easy enough to sway with the promise of a bit of gold and a few nasty words; the coward has business sense coming out of his ears but he was easy to scare, _especially_ as a tiefling. The underlying distrust of his race was old sore point, but damned if it wasn’t useful from time to time. Luck could have used prestidigitation to light up a candle and the bull would have shat himself, he was sure. _Damned horn-heads._

Lias leaned across the table expectantly, waiting for Luck to put forward his request. Lias was an old tiefling born to Tachnir and faithful as any to tieflings. Luck’s father had known him well back in the day, and on the few occasions they’d travelled across the seas together, Luck had stayed with Lias while the convoy had travelled north following the schools of fish. Many months Luck had spent on this island in his earliest years, away from the poisonous vitriol of Crestport and its worsening racial feuds. No wonder his father had seen fit to bring him on his trips more often than not… Still, at the end of the day, Lias couldn’t be counted to be fully on board until he’d heard the details of the plan, and he was a wise man; he might yet say no. “I need you to organise for the admin building to be torched,” Luck said in as quiet a voice as he could, and to his credit, Lias did little more than chuckle at Luck’s request, though he let the man continue.

“I’ve bribed Ox to stop taking his slave consignments in to Crestport and cut ties with Beldroth – that sneaky Pyrrhos overheard, as well as that stupid goat woman probably, and apparently there was someone else that was eavesdropping – probably one of Beldroth’s crew, so I know the word will spread quickly.” “And what’s torching the place going to achieve?” Lias asked, confused as to why Luck would bother giving the bull any gold at all if he was just planning on killing him. “You know what I think of the slave trade,” Luck replied, tossing the bone from his beef onto the plate with a clank. “I don’t want _any_ more slaves going through that port. I haven’t _ever wanted that_.” Lias nodded his head, listening silently. “Now I’ve gone and made a show of getting Ox out of Beldroth’s network, that elven _shit_ is going to know I’m not working for him any more; he’ll be _furious_ that I’ve cut off the slaves coming in from the tiefling and beastfolk side of the trade, and he won’t suspect for a moment that I’ve been the one to destroy the Western Sea’s biggest trading post,” Luck finished his explanation with a flourish and swallowed a great gulp of his bitter ale in triumph. The explanation certainly had made him thirsty, and truth be told it was a thirst for more than just ale now.

“So you want Borox out of the picture too, or…?” Lias accepted Luck’s plan entirely; the details were what he needed hashed out now. “I’d like that but it’s not necessary. Probably would look better if he wasn’t there when the fire started,” the tiefling conceded with a sigh and drank down the rest of his ale. A dinner well-earned. “How much gold did you give him?” “Something shy of four hundred pieces.” “Good, that’ll cover any expenses,” Lias nodded, reaching into his coat for a notebook and pencil. “What expenses could you possibly have?” Luck pried, laughing as Lias took down some notes in a hand he’d written for his own eyes only. With a smirk of his own, the older man poked his pencil towards the young tiefling by his side and explained, “Gotta keep the boy happy. Only the best for my baby.”

Beside them, Dyil blew a smoke ring and grinned as he exposed the gilded dagger strapped to his lithe chest. “Could have been you,” Lias flashed his sharp teeth at Luck and the charlatan barked back a laugh. “You wouldn’t like me; I talk too much,” Luck wiped his mouth with a napkin and threw it on the table. Luck liked Lias a lot, but regardless of his kindness, he was still a bit of a creep – useful though. The old man laughed heartily at Luck’s retort and smiled as he tried to get up. “When do you need it done?” he asked through a film of tears. He did like teasing his boys. “Next week. I’ll be gone by the morning after tomorrow so make sure I’m long gone before you start doing anything. Try and get the innocents out if you’re going to do the whole complex. It’d serve Borox good to have the slaves escape and eat him alive.” Luck squeezed his way out of the cozy corner and stood up straight, stretching next to Dyil.

“Meet up for a drink tomorrow?” “Maybe,” he replied with a yawn. Truthfully, there wasn’t much left for Luck to do in Tachnir now. He was quite pleased he’d managed to talk to the two people he’d come to see in the space of one afternoon, but now that left him free tomorrow – and Luck without anything to do could easily turn into trouble. Bidding his friends good night, Luck crossed through to the hotel side of the pub and paid for his room for the next two nights. The deskman announced his room number and slid a key across the desk and Luck climbed the stairs to his room on the first floor. Inside was modest but comfortable, just as he remembered the hotel, and he threw the windows open to let in the smell of the cool ocean air. The room faced another building which was perhaps a little disappointing, but Luck was too tired to care. He could sleep in all day tomorrow if he liked. Shirking his coat and shirts, Luck stripped down to his shorts and slipped into the bedsheets and turned off the lamps with a wave of his hand.

Jingles had been following Luck around all day. The whole time the man was unaware of the jester, which was great but... His stomach growled as he waited around the outside of the pub. No money also meant no food and he hadn't eaten all day. It wasn't the first time he had gone a day without eating and it wouldn't be the last, but it was still painful. Finally he saw the tiefling leave the pub and go over to the hotel. The jester moved quickly to the side of the other building. Now all he had to do was figure out which room Luck was- ... He saw the man open the window to his room. It was practically an invitation for Jingles to come in and kill him, and the jester would love to do just that. With some nimble jumps Jingles easily reached the window. The bells on his costume were actually fairly quiet. The jester's disguise had long worn off. Jingles didn't see the point of keeping it up after the sun had gone down. He slipped inside the room silently and drew his dagger. It gleamed a little in the moonlight as the jester slowly approached Luck. Oh, he could just slice his throat and be done with it! But... Despite having murdered a king- despite having killed before... Jingles stopped to think. Did this man deserve to die tonight? Well, he did recently sell a couple of dragonborns... That fact made his blood boil with anger. Luck dared to continue selling slaves after their encounter in the chapel? Then yes, the man's life should end tonight. It was only a matter of time before he tried to resell Jingles back into the slave market. Hell, he could out the location to the stronghold if offered enough gold! The Institute of Defense would have a field day!

Jingles convinced himself this man was greedy and dangerous. Luck couldn't be trusted and he took great risks if he let the tiefling live any longer. With that decided, Jingles raised his dagger. 'Don't you remember when he tried to get in-between you and those guards at the masquerade? When he wanted to bail you out of prison?' Some thoughts suddenly intruded. _Oh, for fuck's sake._ 'He hasn't outed you yet. To anyone.' _**Fine.**_ Jingles hopped on top of the man to effectively pin him down with his smaller body and pressed the dagger against his throat. He didn't want Luck to struggle or some how weasel out of this. His dagger threatened to cut the skin if Luck moved. "You have some explaining to do..." He growled under his breath, sharp teeth bared. His golden eyes glared down at the man and practically looked like they were glowing in the dark room. Jingles kept his voice low so he wouldn't alarm the whole inn. "How _could_ you sell those dragonborns into slavery when we're trying to help them...? You didn't sell someone from the _stronghold_ did you? Hell, _did you?_ " His voice shook with rage. "Talk or die." The jester demanded.

Luck stirred as in his sleep. He’d only had his eyes closed for a few minutes, but thanks to the long day’s journey, he was out like a light and dreaming immediately… or was he? The comforting warm weight on his chest conjured up images of faceless lovers pressed against his body _**how could you sell those dragonborns…**_ making him smile as they pressed against his chest _**sell someone from the stronghold…**_ up his neck _**Hell, did you…**_ biting cold steel- _GASP_ “Talk or die.” Luck awoke with a jolt that pressed the viciously sharp blade into his neck firmly enough to draw blood in a straight fine line. The rush of adrenaline coursing through his body made him flush and he felt the front of his shorts tighten as he swelled. There _was_ someone pressed against him, body pinning him down helplessly with a _knife against his throat_ and it took all of his willpower to stop thrashing out in shock as a wave of strength followed the arousal and then fear that bubbled up inside him.

“ _Jingles?_ ” he asked stupidly, but there was no mistaking the glowing yellow eyes of the little jester, nor the blade that had tasted his blood once before. _Dragonborns, the stronghold…?_ His brain tried to push past the confused fog of unconsciousness to make sense of the words he might very well have just dreamed. _Oh god, he **was** there!_ “Fuck, Jingles, I didn’t sell anyone! It was a bluff so he’d take my bribe, I swear to you! You were there- you heard what I said-” he gasped out, voice thick with fear and his eyes welling with tears as he daren’t blink. Luck had absolutely no idea how his day had turned sour so quickly, and even less ability to understand how Jingles could have even followed him to begin with, but the drow was giving him more than enough reason to pay attention now his knife was poised to finish off the deed it had started all that time ago in the chapel. “Did you follow me to kill me?” he choked out, heart rending as he convinced himself that’s exactly what the jester was here to do. _I’m sorry._

Jingles was fortunately too short to be anywhere near the swelling arousal of the tiefling underneath him. He didn't seem to notice, at the very least. He kept holding Luck down and continued to press the knife against his neck. The jester rolled his eyes when the man blurted out his name in confusion. He was about to repeat himself when the man finally gave him a proper response. " **Liar!** " Jingles hissed. He pressed the blade against the man's neck harder and gave him another fine line of blood. "Don't ask me questions, answer mine! Tell me why you sold those dragonborns. For gods sake, Luck, we're trying to help those people!" Despite often being chewed out by Destane, Jingles really did feel for the poor dragon-shifters. He knew what it was like to have your entire raced disliked and he was absolutely disgusted with the Institute for trying to kill them all. And here Luck was, selling them off like mere objects. How heartless could a man be? Jingles lifted a brow upon seeing Luck's tears. He wondered why the man would cry. Was he really that disheartened that the jester would follow him to kill him? Had the man still considered them _friends?_ "You're going to try and get me enslaved again, aren't you?" He continued to question the tiefling. "You came here to arrange some disgusting deal with your bastard slave trading friends, didn't you?" Jingles accused. "You're selling dragonborn after all! Why not sell off me too?" It made sense in the jester's head. If Luck sold him off he wouldn't have to worry about Jingles murdering him in his sleep like this. Life would be easier without the annoying jester around and he would probably get a good chunk of gold for recapturing a previous slave of King Sam.

There's something about having a drow pressing a knife into your neck in the dead of night that stops a man from being able to form coherent words. That something might be a heretofore unknown burning desire, or more likely it might be the sheer, unadulterated _terror_ of realising the one wielding that knife has no intention of believing the answers you give him. Luck was sure he was going to die now, more than ever. He swallowed, Adam's Apple tingling painfully as the fine paper-like cut of Jingles' second slice send a thrilling surge of fire straight to his loins. He groaned, the tone of pleasure easily masked as pain, and pushed the intrusive and frankly _wholly unexpected_ reaction to the back of his mind as he barely resisted rolling his hips. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_

Luck considered trying to throw Jingles off, and while the drow was small and he was sure it wouldn't take much, he didn't want to start a fight here of all places. Jingles would probably tear the whole room apart killing him and the whole point of his mission to Tachnir would crumble, slavery would continue unabated, and nothing would change. Luck couldn't let that happen anymore. "I don't want to sell you, Jingles. I don't want to sell anyone. When have I had the chance to sell _any_ dragonborns since that stupid girl at the inn? What can I say to make you believe me?" His voice remained low as he talked his way out of certain death and it was a relief to feel the pressure of the blade easing somewhat, even if Jingles still looked ready to strike. All he'd have to do is slice once sideways and Luck would be gone with little more than a pained, bloody gurgle. That thought alone urged Luck to spill his secrets. His voice crackled as spoke low so not even an eavesdropper would hear him.

"I wanted to stop selling _long_ before I met you, and after you confessed your secrets to me I was even prepared to stop and take the risk that my disappearance from the network would mean tieflings would begin to be traded. I had a deal with Beldroth, the head boss in Crestport. If I sold slaves for his network, he'd keep tieflings out but he **lied**. I was so angry at the party, didn't you see? Every household in Crestport seemed to have a tiefling slave!" Luck spat, anger making his voice grow louder before he reigned it in. Thankfully Jingles seemed to be hearing him out. Luck wondered if the jester would believe him - he'd said most of this before. "I've long lost everyone who mattered to me, but I sold people for Beldroth under the promise of protecting my people, and I was willing to risk _years_ of misery and betrayal by stopping. Now I know it was all _bullshit_ on Beldroth's end, I want **revenge**. I bribed the leader of the slave market here to stop trading with Beldroth. Word will get back to him that it was me that persuaded him to cut off his main slave supply, and he'll be furious. He'll probably send people after me, tieflings will die because of it. But it won't last long. Lias Sandival is going to burn down the market buildings in a week's time, long after I've disappeared, and release all the slaves he can. Beldroth's main supply line will be cut and hopefully Borox will be dead, and who will Beldroth blame? Not the guy who paid money to cut him off; I'm beyond suspicion. Then once Tachnir is free, I head over to the South Seas and destroy the dwarven drow rings, probably the guys who sold you, and I kill every last supplier. Then, when that's done and Beldroth has no one left to bring slaves to Crestport, I walk in and I **kill _him_**."

Luck panted, his chest heaving with the effort as he swallowed with a dry throat and watched the reaction of the man above him. He had nothing left to confess.

Jingles kept the blade to Luck's neck as he spoke, but he did ease up on the pressure. He silently judged the man's words- listening and taking in all of the details. His expression softened as his anger seemed to recede. The jester was surprised how much information he got from Luck. He was even more astonished that the tiefling sounded so sincere. Jingles was good at identifying liars and knowing when they lied. The man underneath him wasn't lying. It was all genuine- thoughtful even! He recalled the days he spent keeping an eye on Luck. There definitely was not a lot of opportunities for the man to sell Dragonborns without getting noticed by the jester or someone else. Jingles now knew that his confession back at the chapel hadn't put him in danger, but rather inspired Luck to do something about all the slave trading. He even wanted to kill the slave traders that might have sold Jingles! Even though he knew that those dwarven traders hadn't sold him, Jingles was still flattered. Jingles also understood the need for revenge- it was what drove him to kill King Sam after all. The man's mission was a justified one. Jingles only wished he had known sooner. He had misjudged Luck horribly and felt a little bad about it. He finally withdrew the dagger from the man's neck. "I want in." He said simply. His eyes narrowed with hate, but his hostility was no longer directed at Luck. He despised the slave traders and killing them with Luck would bring him tons of gratification. "If what you're saying is true, I want to help." Jingles clarified. The jester then moved off of the man and stood next to the bed with his back facing Luck. His costume's shirt on the back... it was _torn_.

Jingles got out a handkerchief and wiped the tiefling's blood off of his blade. It was clear that the jester no longer wanted to hurt Luck and even trusted him enough to let his guard down. It seemed like he believed what the man had told him. Luck narrowly escaped death by Jingles' blade once again.

_You want **in**?_ The wave of indignation washed over him stronger than the relief that was flooding through his veins. "Who said you could be in?" Luck countered before he'd even had the chance to think about his words. Jingles would probably be a useful ally if he hadn't tried to kill him _twice_ now. But that was something he needed to think about - now probably wasn't the best time to reject the jester, so he backpedalled a little as he clutched at his throat. "There's nothing left to do here but lie low. I have a ship coming back to pick me up the morning after tomorrow," he explained as delicately as he could and drew his hand back to inspect the amount of blood. Jingles' knife had had enough on it to warrant a wipe, and with a tsk Luck realised the cuts had bled a bit. As he shifted from the bed to search for a bandage, his eyes glanced across the torn hem of Jingles' costume. _Short little human, but this smells like tiefling..._ Pyrrhos' words shot through his head and he frowned. That didn't make sense... The stupid cat _always_ knew a smell. The tiefling wrapped a handkerchief over his knuckles and pressed it to his neck, then turned back to Jingles. He didn't know what the deal was, but he was going to trap him. "You got on the wrong end of a big panther then?"

'Who said you could be in?' Jingles sneered at that statement. He held back his own annoyance and finished cleaning off his dagger. He put his handkerchief away and bent over to put away his blade. It looked like the jester kept it somewhere near his shoe or in his lower pants-leg. "What, you think you can topple the damned slave trade market by yourself?" Jingles shot back. Even if there was nothing else to do in this town, the jester still wanted to assist Luck with the next bit of his plan. Somewhere in the South Seas there was more to be done and Jingles' blade was thirsty for the blood of rotten slave traders. He started to list off reasons why he would be a valuable ally. "I followed you all the way out here without you noticing and I could have killed-" He paused at Luck's sudden question. 'You got on the wrong end of the big panther then?' Jingles felt his face pale underneath his makeup. He didn't know how Luck knew about his encounter with that beastfolk but... "What are you-" He turned to face the man, fully prepared to play dumb. That's when he noticed Luck's lack of clothing and a certain something made a very obvious bump in his shorts. His face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and shock. He quickly turned away to give the man some privacy. "C-cover yourself up..."

Luck felt the blood drain from his face… which was good considering his bleeding neck hadn’t stopped yet. With one hand still occupied pressing the handkerchief to his neck, his other shot down to his pants and he turned as he croaked out a weak excuse. “Well you interrupted me- my dream- I-” He slapped himself on the forehead while turned away from Jingles, snapping his mouth shut and swallowing his embarrassment at having dug himself deeper into a hole. He tried to change the subject. “The panther at Borox’s office found someone eavesdropping on us this afternoon and he had a scrap of red silk that I recognised. I hope you managed to get a stab at him,” he offered, voice steady through years of practise; inside he was absolutely mortified. How could he have just _gotten up_ in a state like that? More importantly, why did he _get into_ this state in the first place? His reaction to the knife at his throat raised more questions than he wanted to explore right now if ever. _Please let Jingles ignore it._

Jingles couldn't help but to wonder why Luck was so aroused. Did he...? Was Luck aroused by _him_ or... because he had a dagger to throat...? Jingles blushed even harder behind his makeup. He felt like he stumbled upon information that he wasn't supposed to know. Admittedly the jester wasn't really disgusted with what he saw with the passing glance. Luck was very attractive- oh thank the gods the man tried to change the subject. Jingles would rather talk about _anything_ else. "I... I didn't..." He stuttered, still utterly embarrassed from the shock. Jingles didn't dare turn to face Luck when he spoke. He wanted to deny the fact that he was even in that building, but the fact that the panther had a piece of his torn costume and Luck saw it... There was no chance of him getting away with a lie. "I did jab him in the gut pretty good." Jingles admitted. He fidgeted with his gloves. "But I didn't stab him." Thinking back on the scene the jester would mind giving that dumb cat a few slices, but at the time he was trying his damnedest to get away.

_So it **was** Jingles. Then why did Pyrrhos' say it was a human or a tiefling?The cat **must** be up to something lying to Borox like that..._ Luck realised it was probably a ruse on Pyrrhos' part, for whatever reason, and the realisation that Borox was likely about to get a knife in the back anyway was quite funny, if not a little disconcerting. He'd have to stick to the hotel tomorrow and slip out quietly lest the panther kill Borox now and try to lay the blame on him. _Shit, it's perfect._ Luck worried, but there wasn't much to be done now. As he thought this, Luck pulled on his pants and tucked himself away (although there already was a lot less to show). "If you want to help, you can go kill that cat tonight. That would save us a lot of trouble," he explained and slipped back into bed. "Regardless, I need some sleep. I'll see you later," he said as his head dropped back to the pillow and he made a show of closing his eyes.

The tiefling tried very hard to close his eyes, and for a while he had them pressed tightly shut, though he couldn’t quite remember hearing Jingles leave the room and he was surprised upon waking to find out he’d managed to fall asleep incredibly quickly. _Must have been tired than I thought_ , he reasoned, brushing off the tinge of worry that he was so easily comfortable letting his guard down around the drow _especially after he’d tried to kill him not more than five minutes beforehand._ He had it bad for the stupid, flipping, jingling jester. Luck needed to reign himself in before he got himself into trouble… more trouble… well… He dreaded to think what could be more trouble than what he’d already found.

The first striking red rays of sunlight lit the clouds up like lanterns in the sky, dousing the town in pink hues that bounced across stonework and into Luck’s room. The tiefling slept straight through their brilliant colours and missed the ominous beauty of the red morning. It wasn’t until long past the midday hour that Luck stirred and awoke from his well-earned rest. He stretched his limbs out under the scratchy blankets of the unfamiliar bed and winced as the skin on his neck pulled and stung. _Right, the near death experience_ he remembered a little belatedly, and through the fog of waking he slowly came to realise all that had happened the night before and his heart nearly stopped. _Where the **fuck** was Jingles?_ the drow hadn’t spent the night in the room – there wasn’t anywhere for him to stay in the poky room. He’d said something now, hadn’t he? And Jingles had gone away? _What was it?_ **OH SHIT I told him to go kill Pyrrhos!** Luck practically bounded across the room to the window in a moment of stupidity thinking he might somehow be able to _see_ the admin building from the hotel. “Get it together!” he swore to himself and slapped himself across the cheek strong enough to hurt. He realised that if Jingles had gone out to kill Pyrrhos, his body would probably already be lying cold and dead in a corner of the slave quarter. The little drow didn’t fuck around, that’s for sure.

After dressing (taking care to straighten his beautiful new embroidered black and gold waistcoat), Luck made his way down to the pub for lunch and kept his head down as he ate. There wasn’t much left for him to do in Tachnir now, after all, and the less people saw of him the better. Leaving some gold at the counter, he asked for dinner to be brought to his rooms and made arrangements to have some more pillows and blankets brought up. In a moment of perspicacity, Luck realised Jingles probably didn’t have anywhere to sleep and had been up since the morning they’d shipped from the Island. If he came back to his rooms, at least there would be somewhere for him to curl up and get a few hours’ rest. Luck nabbed a book from the foyer and returned to his rooms to wait out the day.

It took awhile for Jingles to track down the panther beastfolk. With it already being night he figured the cat wouldn't still be in the original building he was found in. He scouted a few residential houses and found tieflings and other beastfolk, but not Pyrrhos. The jester was stubborn, though. He wasn't going to return to the hotel until the panther was dead. Eventually Jingles came across a home near the outskirts of town. He found Pyrrhos through his bedroom window; the cat was already in bed and asleep for the night. This would definitely make things easier for the jester. He carefully checked the window- it was unlocked. Jingles didn't know why he was having such luck with windows today, but he wasn't going to question it. He slipped inside the bedroom. The bells on his costume jingled gently, but the cat only stirred a little and turned over in his sleep. Jingles approached the bed. He could slit the cat's throat and leave, but as he stared at the sleeping feline a familiar feeling of hatred and anger rose within him. Pyrrhos was a _slave trader_. He deserved a _painful_ death; he deserved to **suffer**. A slit throat was too good for him. Just like he did with the dead king, Jingles held up his hands together with the thumbs against each other and his fingers spread. He whispered the incantation. For a brief moment fire appeared in his hands, but just as quickly as it appeared the fire vanished. Instead a dull light glowed around his hands and spread to the rest of him. Pyrrhos mumbled something in his sleep, but despite the noise and light the cat did not wake up. The jester blinked, bewildered by what had just happened. He wondered if he had he said the incantation incorrectly or if he was just not practiced well enough with this spell. Either way, Jingles was determined. He tried to cast it again, but this time at a higher level.

It worked. A cone of fire burst forth from his fingers and onto the sleeping panther and his bed. Pyrrhos woke up immediately and roared in pain as he was literally burned alive. To Jingles' surprise, the beastfolk leapt out of his bed- which was now on fire. Pyrrhos snarled at the jester and tried to put the fire out on his clothes and fur with very little success. Jingles didn't hesitate- he casted his fiery spell again at the man. This time Pyrrhos seemed to be prepared for it. He was still hit by the spell but moved out of the way in time to not take a direct hit. His nightstand caught of fire by the spell because he moved. The lantern on it tipped over and shattered. The panther was in pretty bad shape at his point. A lot of his fur was burnt away and revealed blistering red patches of skin. Pyrrhos was pissed, but even he knew when he should run. If he didn't want to die by the burning hands of this jester he had to get away. He sprinted out of his room, down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the backdoor. "Someone fucking help me before this fuckin' jester kills me!!" He yelled into the night. Unfortunately for him, Jingles pursued him through the house. With another quick incantation and a coordinated movement of his hands the jester released forth another cone of fire. Pyrrhos let out a loud roar as the flames hit his back seared his flesh. The panther then collapsed onto the ground.

Jingles panted and approached the fallen panther. Magical flames still surrounded his hands momentarily before dying out. He glared down at the slave trader and kicked him. There was no response. The jester looked around to see if anyone had seen the murder. It seemed like the panther's cries hadn't been heard. That's what he gets for living so far away from the main part of town. Jingles picked up the charred body. It was a heavy load for the little jester, but he managed to drag it inside and heave it into the spreading flames of the fire. If Pyrrhos wasn't dead before, he certainly would be soon. He coughed and choked on the smoke that filled air. His lungs burned and Jingles immediately regretted going back into the smoldering building, but he _had_ to make sure Pyrrhos wouldn't survive the night. The jester stumbled back towards the exit. He hacked and wheezed and found his vision was blurring. Before Jingles could make it out, everything went dark. Voices were heard.

_I-I found someone! I think they're still alive!!_

...

_He seems to be stable..._ _I'll look after him for you._

...

**_Kalem, wake up._ **

Jingles awoke suddenly with a gasp. He sat up started wheezing and went into a coughing fit. A pink female tiefling was in the room with him. "Easy there, friend." She patted and rubbed the jester's back until the coughs died down. Jingles took a moment to take in his surroundings. He appeared to be in a guest bedroom of someone's house- perhaps it belonged to the female tiefling. Currently the jester was in a bed and dressed in some common clothes that weren't his own. He felt himself fill with dread. Without his costume it was obvious that Jingles was a tiefling himself. Jingles' true identity was exposed in a stranger's house. He moved to get up, but the female tiefling pushed him back down gently by his shoulders. "Relax. You're safe now." She tried to soothe the panicked tiefling.

"My name is Leire." She introduced herself. Her voice was kind and sweet. "My husband pulled you out from that fire and volunteered to take care of you, but he had to go rest." She explained. "Can you tell me your name?" Jingles was still nervous, but something about the female tiefling and her voice was calming. He tried to tell her his name, but his agitated throat couldn't get out a proper sound and he ended up coughing again. "Oh, dear. I do apologize. I was hoping the smoke hadn't hurt your throat that much. Here, I made you some tea." Leire picked up a cup that was on the nightstand and handed it to the jester. "That should help." The younger tiefling glanced between the tea and Leire. He was hesitant to trust her but... she did seem sincere. If she had wanted to harm him she would have already done so when he was unconscious. With that logic in mind, Jingles drank down the warm liquid slowly. It did alleviate the scratchiness like Leire said, much to the jester's surprise. He opened his mouth to try and speak again, but Leire interrupted him. "Save your voice! I don't want you hurting yourself." She told him. "Hmm..." Leire paused to think. "Hang on, I'll be right back." She left the jester alone for only a moment. He idly sipped the tea he was given as he waited. Soon Leire returned with a book and a pen. She opened the book to a blank page and handed it to Jingles with the pen. "There! Now you don't have to speak." Jingles blinked. This tiefling was more thoughtful than he could imagine anyone would be towards a stranger. He appreciated it, but it was a little suspicious. Regardless he wrote something down for her. 'Lucien.' Leire sat down on the edge of the bed and peered over to the book to see. "Lucien? Is that your name?" She asked with a smile. Jingles nodded. "It's nice to meet you, Lucien!" Jingles then wrote down a question. 'Where is my costume?'

"Oh, you mean the jester outfit you had on? Hang on I know I put it somewhere..." Leire got up and searched around the room for a bit before she produced the outfit. It was folded neatly and Jingles' dagger was on top of the clothing. "I hope you don't mind, but I cleaned and patched it up for you." She told him and sat the costume beside him. Jingles sat down the book to move his costume to his lap. He carefully examined the outfit. It was in near perfect condition. This made him smile. Leire's own smile widened after she saw the smaller tiefling's happy expression. "Hehe, you're welcome." She took it as a silent thank you. "Now... I need to know- or rather my husband needs to know to put in his reports- what were you doing at Pyrrhos' house?" Her face turned serious. Jingles looked at Leire with a blank expression. He tried to hide his fearful emotions. He knew how bad it must have looked for him to be in the same burning building as the dead panther... The jester grabbed the book and pen to write down his answer. 'I saw the fire. I was trying to save him.' Naturally, Jingles wrote down a lie. Leire looked at what he wrote. "Mm hm! Thought you'd say something like that." Jingles looked at the older tiefling and tried to keep his expression neutral. "We'll be happy to put that down in the reports, but I know why you were really there..." She grinned and showed off her pointed teeth. "It was no secret that Pyrrhos had it out for us tieflings. Rumor has it he was even selling our kind out to the slave market." Leire told Jingles. "You are a hired assassin, aren't you? It was a shame the house caught on fire- otherwise you would have gotten out of there, right?" Jingles froze. He didn't know what to say or write. Leire had saw right through his ruse and her assumptions weren't too far off from the truth. "You don't have to answer that." She said. "Just know that we're more than thankful Pyrrhos got what he deserved."

After that Leire offered Jingles some lunch, which he was more than happy to accept. He changed back into his costume before he left and thanked the female tiefling once again for her kindness. "It was a pleasure, Lucien. Zicy tiry." She said as the jester left her home. Jingles smiled and gave her a final wave. It was now late afternoon. Jingles made his way back to the hotel. He wondered if Luck was still there or if the man was out looking for him. Either way it was a safe bet to go to the hotel and wait for him in the room. The window was still open. Jingles waited until it was safe to maneuver up the building without anyone noticing. It was a little harder than usual to get up to the window since his lungs were still agitated from breathing in smoke from last night. He didn't bother trying to sneak this time. The bells on his costume jingled and announced his arrival as he came in through the window.

An unexpected knock came at the door in the mid-afternoon right as Luck had started to doze, his book sliding off his chest. With a start, he scrambled from his chair, pulling his waistcoat down and reaching for the door. The last thing he expected to see on the other side was this particular tiefling. “Lias-” “Not out here,” he whispered harshly and barged past Luck into the room. The younger tiefling spared a second to look for Lias’ boy Dyil but he was nowhere to be seen. “What’s wrong?” Luck asked in a soft voice as he locked the door behind him. Lias strode to the windows and pulled them shut before turning around. “Someone’s burned Pyrrhos to a crisp and torched half his house!” he spoke with barely-contained anger that only softened minutely when he saw Luck’s eyes go wide. “And it wasn’t Dy-”

“Of course it bloody wasn’t us!” Lias waved away the ridiculous suggestion and spread his feet as he looked around the room. His eyes stopped on a corner of the room and he snapped his head back to Luck. “You’re harbouring the tiefling that did it, aren’t you?” Lias’ eyes had drifted over the piles of pillows and blankets arranged into a soft nest in one corner of the room. Luck had set the pile with the intention of giving Jingles somewhere warm and dark to sleep out the rest of the day… but he hadn’t come back yet. Luck stared at Lias in confusion for a few moments before he had to admit to himself he was confused. A _tiefling_ had done it? Maybe Jingles hadn’t gotten to Pyrrhos in time.

“I’ve got a drow friend staying here,” Luck explained as simply as he could, and he hid his emotion well with his practised façade of calm disinterest. “I didn’t ask anyone to take him out,” he lied through his teeth, and Lias seemed to deflate a little. He _wanted_ to believe Luck. There were plenty of people in Tachnir who would have wanted the panther dead, and more than enough opportunity for someone off-shore to come in and kill him. At least that’s what Luck might be wanting him to believe. Maybe he _knew_ his drow friend was the tiefling and it was just a little game they played – keep the tiefling all done up in jester’s garb and call him a drow, make him sleep in a corner of the room, never seen with him in public but happy to go buy obvious trinkets for the little fellow and make him crawl in through the _window_ no less. Dyil had seen it all yesterday, and Lias would give them the privacy to keep up what they did in private. It wasn’t their business, after all, but he wanted to make sure old Luck was on the same page.

“The constabulary on that side of town has taken a statement from the tiefling - _Lucien_ is what he called himself,” Lias paused, making sure his friend _knew he knew_ , but the name was unknown to Luck so his deadpan expression revealed nothing. In the end it was up to Luck to punish his pet for his misdeeds, the old tiefling thought to himself. “They know it was magical fire that did it and they’re letting the tiefling walk away, but that kind of stuff is exactly what gets us swarming with high elves and _humans_ ,” he finished with a shudder. “Do you think you can still take down Borox’s set up?” Luck cut to the point. If the plan was ruined now, he might have to take more drastic action, but Lias shook his head and stared off into the distance for a while as if imaging the new course of action.

“We can still burn the place down, but it’ll have to wait more like a month, and we’ll need to do it with real fire; Dyil won’t like that,” the old tiefling’s pointed teeth shone as he grinned. “You’ll get me on his bad side, you know,” he wiggled an eyebrow imaging _just_ what that would entail, and Luck tried to ignore his skeezy comment. Lias chuckled and turned to open Luck’s windows back up. The sensitive part of the conversation was over and the room was getting stuffy. “Come with me to the pub. You promised me a game of checkers,” Lias threw his arm over Luck’s shoulders and dragged him towards the door, though the shorter tiefling held back. “It’s probably better we’re not seen together,” he countered, worried about the repercussions _especially_ after the fire today, but Lias wouldn’t take no for an answer. “You can leave before the dinner rush – it’s quiet down there now,” the older tiefling argued back, unlocking the door with one hand and Luck conceded. One game wouldn’t hurt. As they closed the room door behind them and stepped down the stairs, Luck’s indignant voice echoed through the hall. “Wait - _promised_?” Lias laughed all the way down.

Jingles returned to an empty room. He wheezed a little and had to take a knee from the effort of climbing through the window. Luck was either out looking for him or doing some other business of his own. The jester didn't mind having some time to himself and he knew Luck would eventually return to the room. Then he can tell him that Pyrrhos was dead. Hopefully that proved him worthy enough to join Luck in his mission to destroy the slave trade market. He stood back up and looked around the room. In the corner he spotted a pile of pillows and blankets. Jingles stared at it and wondered if it was for him. Well, if Luck had the bed... then it must be for him. Where else would the jester sleep? It looked comfortable enough. Jingles sat down on the pile and found that it was softer than it looked. He yawned and coughed. Maybe he was more tired than he originally thought. Jingles took his time and wrapped himself in the blankets. He snuggled against the pillows and sighed happily. A nap sounded great right now. The jester dozed off faster than he expected.

By happy coincidence, Luck returned to his rooms just as his early dinner was being brought to his room. He intercepted the boy just in time and allowed him into the room where a trolley was left with two generous plates of a roast dinner - the first cuts judging by the meat piled on plate and covered in a layer of distracting vegetables. Luck wasn't sure of the meat but the end pieces were quite a bit more cooked than suited his tiefling tastes. As the boy disappeared, closing the door behind him, Luck caught sight a small lump gently rising and falling the pile of blankets on the floor. There wasn't much to see beyond a small gap Jingles had presumably left to breathe through. The older tiefling smiled. _About time he got some rest._

Quietly as he could, Luck picked up a knife and fork and scraped the vegetables off the meat, plucking the more cooked pieces from his plate and switching them with the rawer pieces from the middle - it _was_ a tiefling pub after all. He reasoned Jingles would prefer the more cooked pieces anyway. And maybe some more of the vegetables. And this stupid potato. As he was shifting the food over, a rustling came from behind him in the blankets on the floor.

Jingles was woken up from his dreamless sleep by the smell of food. His stomach growled insistently and the jester opened his eyes to see that Luck was now in the room. It looked like the man was moving some food over to the other plate- which Jingles assumed was his. He never figured Luck to be a picky eater, but the jester wasn't going to complain. He really didn't want to move from his comfortable corner of blankets and pillows, but he was absolutely starving. Slowly Jingles unwrapped himself from the blankets and stood up. He took a moment to stretch before he walked over to Luck and the food. Immediately he thought he should pay the tiefling back for dinner. "How much did this cost you?" Jingles asked. His voice was scratchy and tired, but his throat was in much better condition than it was earlier today. He picked up his own fork and stabbed a few vegetables as he waited for an answer. Jingles smiled at the taste. Despite his true race, the jester appreciated all kinds of food. As a slave he was starved, so he was always grateful to have just about any kind of food.

“Figured you wouldn’t have brought any gold with you,” he chose to ignore Jingles’ question, sitting on the bed and resting the plate on his knees. Luck sliced a chunk of the meat in half and chewed thoughtfully as he looked at Jingles. It was odd being the same height as the jester, sitting down as he was. “A friend of mine was very distraught that you set Pyrrhos’ house on fire,” he said as he swallowed and broke eye contact to slice at more of the meat. “But I can say I’m happy he’s gone. I didn’t expect you to actually do it,” Luck looked up, eyes hooded by the strong ridge of his brow, and he smiled the smile he usually only kept for smooth-talking and tricks. It wasn’t intentional really, but he felt a surge of confidence in that moment and his respect for his friend had really grown. Behind the makeup, his dusty purple features were really something to behold. He was cute as hell, that was for sure, and a part of Luck couldn’t pick apart the dichotomy between wanting to sit the little drow on a pillow, put a ribbon on his head and hug him to death, and the wholly opposite desire to crush him bodily against the bed and- well- actually the two thoughts were starting to merge into one and Luck didn’t need to be thinking about that now. “Did you get much sleep?” he asked, finishing the last of his meal and sliding the plate onto the trolley with a clatter. Somewhere along the line Jingles had taken the time to wash the makeup from his face, and by the looks of the clean basin in the room, it probably wasn’t here. In his question he wondered where the jester had been all day… Lias had told him when the fire had started and it seemed odd that the drow had taken so long to get back to the hotel.

Luck was correct. Jingles didn't even have a single copper piece on him. He still wanted to pay Luck back- perhaps after they get back to the stronghold, but he wasn't going to push it right now. It was time to eat. Jingles took his plate and sat down at the desk in the room. He began to unceremoniously shovel vegetables into his mouth and scarfed down the food like he hadn't eaten all week. The jester only paused to listen to Luck speak. He swallowed the mouth full of meat and vegetables before he responded. "Of course I did it. I was serious when I said I wanted to help you." Jingles told the man. He looked at Luck's face and felt himself blush slightly. That smile... those eyes... Luck could get away with anything with looks like that. The fact that the tiefling was looking at him with an expression akin to the one he had the first night they met made Jingles melt a little inside. He glanced away and cleared his throat. Jingles tried to distract himself by tearing into some of the roasted meat on his plate. Instead of using the knife to cut the meat into manageable pieces, the jester opted to ripping it apart with his fangs instead. It wasn't long until the jester consumed all of the food on his plate. It was about this time when Luck asked another question. "I got enough." Jingles replied simply. He stared at his plate a little disappointed that there wasn't any more food on it. The stronghold's cafeteria had him spoiled... He followed Luck's example and put his plate back on the trolley as well. Afterwards he took out a handkerchief and wiped off any bits of food he had on his face from his aggressive eating. "Are you sure I can't pay you back for the meal?" The jester brought up his question again.

_Not with money._ "It was nothing, Jingles," he waved off his concern. A pittance of gold meant nothing to him when it was spent on Jingles. Usually he'd be counting every coin and would probably be down at the pub making his dinner money back by now, but this was different. Spending money wasn't something Luck did freely, so to him it was an intimate act to give the jester dinner and share his room for the night. He _wanted_ to spend his gold on Jingles, and if anyone who knew Luck properly had heard that, they'd be shocked. The thought struck him then and he stepped up from the bed in a bit of a hurry. "Thank you for your help, Jingles," he smiled and stepped across to the coatrack by the door where his long coat had been left all day. He reached into a deep inner pocket and dug out the bag he'd purchased from the portside markets the day before, slipping the larger sack behind his back.

"I- got you something as thanks..." It had really just been bought as a gift but Jingles didn't have to know. Luck had been quietly agonising over how he was going to give his gift to Jingles, and now seemed as good as any. Coming over to the window by the desk, he paused briefly to glance at the little spit of rain and frown. Shaking his head a little, he turned to the jester and smiled, revealing a small sack roughly the size of his head and packed full of what looked like... apples? Luck handed the bag to Jingles and as he opened it and pulled out one of the shapes, Luck couldn't help but grin and explain. Jingles was holding what looked like a beautifully ornate juggling ball, complete with a soft cover and the little bit of give expected from proper juggling balls, but these were _much different_. "They're not just juggling balls - they're _grenades_. There are a few different types: that's a smoke bomb," he gestured at the grey patterned ball in Jingles' hand, "and the red ones are fire. They ignite when you hurl them at the floor hard so they won't go off if you drop them... usually. But you never drop them I suppose," he rattled off a little fast, blushing for the briefest of moments before calming down. He knew Jingles was good; he didn't have to gush. "You should have had that one when you got to King Sam," he chuckled and looked down at his friend expectantly. He really hoped Jingles would like them. He'd only ever seen them at trading posts like Tachnir and had no idea who made them, but they just _screamed_ Jingles.

"I've just got word the ship's docking tonight for us and we have to be out by early morning," Luck pulled his head back in from the window and brushed the rainwater out of his eyes. That brilliant sunset they'd both missed had told of the night they were about to have, but neither had seen the sky. _Red in the morning, sailor's warning..._ "You'd better get some sleep now and I'll wake you up when we have to leave."

Jingles found it unusual for Luck to turn down money. It was no secret that the man liked gold, which was why Jingles wanted to pay him back. He was thankful for the meal, but he wasn't sure a simple 'thank you' would cover it. Before he could insist Luck mentioned that he had gotten him something. Jingles blinked with curiosity. "You didn't have to." He told him. His eyes followed the tiefling across the room, but Luck had already hid whatever it was behind his back. The jester was eager to see what was inside the bag. When he was handed it he opened it immediately and pulled out a... juggling ball? It wasn't the most original thing to give a jester, but it made him smile regardless. His eyes widened when Luck explained that the balls were for more than juggling. "G-grenades?" He repeated and looked through the bag to see all the different colors. Gray was smoke.... red was fire... but what were the others? Jingles wanted to ask, but he also wanted to keep it a surprise. His smile spread into a grin. "Oh, Luck! These are perfect!" Jingles sat the bag down on the desk and nearly leapt up from his seat. He suddenly gave the man a tight hug. "Thank you so much!" He said before releasing the man. His face was flushed and he smiled cheerfully. Honestly Luck couldn't have picked out anything more perfect for the jester. These were weapons he could _juggle_ \- okay he could juggle most weapons, but these were more discrete.

He tilted his head and frowned at Luck's suggestion to sleep. "But I just woke up." He pouted a little. Honestly, Jingles felt like he was full of energy. Now would be the perfect time to go downstairs and perform at the pub next door but... most of the town would probably recognize him as the person who burned Pyrrhos alive. Maybe a performance was a bad idea. "Can't we do something else? Just for a little while? There must be something we can do for fun in this town... We can even play a card game!" The jester begged and gave the man golden puppy eyes. Luck wasn't the only one who could get away with things with just looks...

The tight hug from Jingles was wholly unexpected, but it felt good to know his present had been so well-received. After the jester has been trying to kill him with such vigour and determination, it was a nice change to be back in his good books. He really hoped it would last this time. The charlatan let out a sharp laugh at that suggestion. "You want to play cards with _me_?" he asked, but Jingles seemed to be more than serious. The look he gave Luck with his brilliant golden eyes was so endearing, and with that one look the tiefling was completely suckered in. It took Luck a while to find his cards... at least the ones that _weren't_ trick cards, and he gave them a quick dexterous shuffle, flicking them together and folding them in on themselves in an impressive show of skill. "What would you like to play?"

Jingles knew very well that Luck could probably beat him in any game he chose. The man was skilled with a deck of cards, even if they weren't a trick deck the jester suspected Luck could still stack the deck in his favor. Maybe there was a chance Luck wouldn't cheat and play fair with the jester. It would be more fun to play a game without any tricks. Either way Jingles took a moment to think about what kind of card game he would play with the man. He wanted to avoid games like poker, which were strictly luck-based. "How about... Hearts?" Jingles suggested with a smile. It was a fun fast paced little game that required some strategic thought to win.

_Hearts, huh?_ the tiefling snorted a little. “You must be good at it – you’ve got hearts all over,” _and I think you might just have mine_. Luck dealt out the cards on the table by the window and drew up a chair to sit. Outside, lightning flashed in the distance and a peel of thunder rolled over the harbour. It was only early evening, but they played well into the night, changing up the game when they grew tired, and the night flew past in a blur of cards and winning hands. --- “We’d better pack it up,” Luck declared after the last hand had been played. Jingles had won many of their games, or at least he’d let the jester win. He’d gone easy on the drow but it was certainly a little harder to play when he wasn’t actively cheating. The storm that had blown in that evening and swept over Tachnir, dousing the streets in water, and now the view from the steamed-up windows showed beautiful cobbled streets illuminated by scattered lamplight as a gentle rain continued to fall. The clouds had been blown further out to the other side of the island and beyond. It was fortunate too, for had it been raining as it was earlier that day, Luck worried the ship to take them home wouldn’t even be able to enter port. The hotel room was a flurry of activity for the next few minutes as Luck pulled on his coat and packed away his cards, searching the room to make sure he hadn’t left any of what little he’d brought with him. As much as he didn’t want to lose anything, he was also cautious of leaving anything that might point to his having been in town. It was a lot easier to deny he’d been here if there wasn’t any physical evidence. “I hope you’ve got a spell to keep us dry,” he half-joked as he glanced out the window for the fiftieth time.

They exited the hotel in a hurry, walking down the stairs as quietly as they could. The foyer was deserted this late at night, and as Luck pulled the door open and stared out into the steady rain he could tell they wouldn’t need to bother being quiet; no one would willingly go out in this weather at this time of night. The clouds were so thick that they covered the moon and stars, so the way out was all but pitch black where the streetlamps failed to shine. Times like this, Luck really wished he had a cloak. Looking down at Jingles by his side, he watched the light dance in the jester’s golden eyes while he too stared out into the rain. Luck’s eyes wandered down to the silky, thin costume his friend wore and he suddenly realised the poor jester would be soaked and frozen to the bone the minute they stepped outside. He made his mind up without hesitation. “Stand close,” Luck instructed Jingles and he flicked his coat open with his left hand, wrapping the material around the drow as best he could. His other hand reached to fold his collar up and secure the bag under his arm so he didn’t drop it in their hurry. Pulling Jingles in tight against his warm body, Luck felt a little surge of protectiveness come over him. _He’ll be safe with me._ His naturally-warm tiefling body wouldn’t be all that affected by getting wet anyway, and he worried Jingles might be susceptible to getting sick after inhaling all that smoke from the fire and hardly sleeping in two days; the jester might have insisted he was fine but Luck hadn’t failed to notice his scratchy voice and the way the bags under his eyes deepened without make up to hide their colour.

\---

The strange shape of two people sharing a coat rushed out from the Tachnir Port Hotel in the dead of night and two quiet sets of footfalls splashed through deep puddles down to the port. As they shuffled through the rain together, Luck spied the outline of Bren’s secondary trade ship docked in the far port and relief flooded through him. The thought that the ship would be sitting out at sea because of the storm had worried him so much as they left, but now they had the chance to get out of Tachnir on time and according to plan. The two of them ran across the boardwalk at an increased pace as the rain pounded down on them and a shivering guard at the gangplank of the ship let them by with hardly a peep. Once on board, they darted across the decks to the captain’s cabin and took shelter under an overhand on the quarterdeck. Behind the door to the Captain’s quarters, the light from a lamp lit up the glass windows and a shadow behind the door grew clearer as it came closer. The wood swung in, pulling the cold wet air inside and the human behind the door shivered, ushering them in. “Get inside and warm yourselves up,” he instructed in a gruff voice that didn’t at all fit with the concern painted across the young man’s face. “Take that coat off,” he crossed to the carefully contained fire in a special ship hearth and opened the iron cover with a cloth, gently placing a few more logs into its depths. “You’re damned lucky we got in here with the weather like this,” the man explained, watching at the two guests shed their soaked clothes and Luck came to huddle by the closed fireplace.

“I thought the storm passed by before midnight; it should be too far east for us now?” he asked as he rubbed his hands in the heat given off by the fire. “Yes but the wind’s been changing,” the human countered, crossing to his desk to consult a log of notes. “We could give it a try but I don’t know how far off course we could get if they change on us once we leave port. I haven’t got enough men to hoist sail if we catch a foul wind…” The two talked more in terms only sailors would understand and argued about the chance of making it out past the harbour point safely. The Island was a day’s sail away against the prevailing winds but the storm had turned those winds about; they ran the risk of catching the brunt of the poor weather if that meant the storm would follow them back over Tachnir. The port town was well situated when the winds were fair, but this was turning out to be an unexpected change to the usual and the captain wasn’t happy. Thankfully, Luck was a smooth-talker and a sailor to boot, so convincing the captain would turn out to be an easier task than he’d imagined. Outside, the rain grew lighter until it was merely a spit, and young midshipman interrupted briefly to report on the easing winds. “We can see the dogstar to navigate, Captain. Clear over the west and out of the harbour,” he reeled off his report dutifully and disappeared as quickly as he’d come. “Looks like the heavens favour you tonight,” he replied with a sigh and moved closer to the tiefling. “Captain Myles,” he introduced himself rather late, but Luck took the human’s hand nonetheless and grasped it firmly.

“You’re Bren’s son, aren’t you?” Luck asked, looking over the younger man. Bren was getting on in years and his head may have been all but bald, but Myles looked as if he had a full head of hair and much fairer skin. He probably took after his mother, but had the same stature as the stocky merchant from the china ship. Myles’ considerably smaller ship carried wooden goods and furniture much lighter than china and glass but larger and bulkier to store in the ship’s hold, so their business in Tachnir was much quicker and made for a speedy turn around after having docked that night. Myles turned to Jingles who he had all but ignored up to this point and introduced himself as well, and with that done he set about getting the ship under way. --- The ship cleared the harbour without trouble and turned with the waves, trimming sail as they sped from Tachnir on the winds of the storm behind them. The ship heaved and dipped with the tall waves, shifting with that stomach-dropping motion that made equal amounts of people either course with adrenaline or turn green at the gills. Judging by the way Luck’s friend was acting, he was most certainly the latter.

\---

A good few hours later saw them make fantastic progress but at a price. While Myles and Luck had been unaffected by the vicious swells of the waves breaking on the ship, a great number of the crew had fallen ill, and Myles couldn’t stop himself for berating his lieutenants to get them back up onto the slippery, barren deck as the ocean drove them back down to the hold. The waves seemed to be picking up as they went and it was becoming harder to stay true to the compass as the winds began turning. Clouds were rapidly hiding the stars from view.

\---

“Take down the sails and ride it out!” Myles screamed above the roar of the ocean and deafening thunder, hardly sparing a second to raise an eyebrow as his tiefling guest scrambled up the mainmast like a squirrel. Bren hadn’t told him the hornhead had sea legs, but he was impressed. If they made it through the storm without keeling over all together, he’d have to thank the man for his help.

\---

Luck huddled down into the corner of the captain’s cabin, one hand gripping tightly to the wooden walls and the other wrapped around Jingles to keep them steady as the ship was tossed around like a toy duck in a bathtub. Water crept across the floor, its movements the only way Luck could tell which way the ship was rolling with no way to see the horizon. Without that to anchor him and keep him steady, the tiefling’s heart began to pound and he finally felt fear creep up his chest.

\---

It felt like hours later and Luck’s fingers were stiff and raw from digging into the walls of the cabin. The thunder and lightning had all but disappeared and shouting eventually returned to the decks outside. Myles took the chance to stand up and stumbled a little as he reached the windows, rubbing his sleeve on the glass to clear the condensation and look outside. On the horizon, a steady golden sun was rising and the clouds that remained behind them caught alight with a brilliant red. Stepping outside with Luck close behind him, they found the storm was finally out of the way. A midshipman by Myles’ side was huddled against the wall of the captain’s cabin, desperately scrambling with his sextant trying to read the angles he’d recorded. Myles waited by him silently, prepared for the worst. The midshipman was even younger than Myles, and it was hard to tell now whether he was shaking due to nerves, illness, or the dripping wet clothes that were plastered to his skin. “Are we far off course, Jaeson?” Myles gently prodded, and the young boy looked up with horror in his eyes. “No, I-” he stuttered, stumbling over his words as he was reluctant to admit. He’d only checked his calculations thrice, but, “I think we’re _here_.” Starting forwards, Luck walked out onto the quarterdeck and turned in every direction, but no sign of land could be found around him, so he whipped around and climbed to the poop deck, fighting to move in his sodden pants which forced his steps to come up short. As he crested the top of the ladder he stopped, and he never thought he’d tear up at the sight of land, but there it was; the Island, bathed in morning light and emerald green like the storm had hardly reached it. _Thank gods: they were home._

Jingles was surprised by the amount of games he actually won. He suspected that Luck was letting him win, but he didn't complain. The jester was having fun which was evident due to a smug smirk and the occasional laugh. He looked a little disappointed when Luck announced they had to stop and pack, although he didn't protest. Jingles helped the man clean up the cards and pack up his things. He let Luck pack the juggling grenades he had bought him with his stuff since the jester didn't have a pack to put them in. "I wish I did." Jingles smiled at the light joke. He did take a moment to go over the spells he knew, but none of them would protect the two from the rain outside. They bustled downstairs once everything was packed and ready to go, but they both stopped at the exit's doorway. The rain was still pouring without mercy. Jingles really didn't have a way to protect himself from it. 'Stand close.' He heard Luck and looked over. The man held his coat open as an invitation. Jingles was quick to understand and moved close to the tiefling. He pressed his body against Luck's own warm torso and blushed a little at the urge to turn and snuggle into it. Jingles settled for wrapping an arm around the man to secure his place by Luck's side.

Luck's coat protected Jingles' shirt and most of his cowl from the rain, but as they ran through puddles water splashed up and soaked the jester's shoes and pants thoroughly. The bells on Jingles' costume rang as the bounded through the port town and to the boardwalk. Jingles was relieved when they finally reached the ship and was let in the captain's quarters. Jingles didn't hesitate to leave Luck's side to go straight to the fire to warm up. His little body was shivering and wet, but he refused to remove any of his costume. Even under these circumstances Jingles was just not comfortable with the idea, especially because he was on a ship full of people he didn't know. He convinced himself that he would be dry in no time if he stayed by the fire since his costume was thin. The jester listened to Luck and the captain argue back and forth about winds, going off course, and other risks they would be taking if they left the port in this kind of weather. Jingles didn't really understand all the sailor terms, but he found out that Luck most certainly did. He didn't know that the man used to sail. It was an interesting little fact he picked up by listening to the conversation. Unsurprisingly, Luck was able to convince the captain to leave the port and set sail. Jingles was only able to shake Captain Myles' hand before the human went off to prepare for the journey.

With the tall waves the ship rose and drop drastically as it left the harbor and went out into the ocean. Jingles found himself immediately stumbling and clutching his stomach. He sat down in a corner of the cabin. There he felt the 'safest' but it did nothing for his stomach which flipped with each dip. On top of getting seasick so quickly, the little jester was worried about the ship would tip over and sink. He didn't want to think of the possibility, but it was hard to think of anything else. Jingles could swim, of course, but in this weather if the ship went down he bet the ocean would swallow him up too. Hours passed and the jester managed not to throw up. He really didn't want to and didn't want to know how well vomit could slosh around in the cabin and make a mess of things. Jingles couldn't help with anything on the ship like Luck could, so the least he could do is not make a mess. Eventually Luck joined him in the corner. Jingles welcomed the man and what little comfort he could bring him. He leaned on the tiefling even though he was damp from assisting the crew. Jingles whined in misery and curled into himself. He felt Luck's warm hand rub his back. It didn't do much to alleviate the nausea, but Jingles appreciated it regardless.

It took ages, but the ocean calmed down and the storm passed. Jingles heard the captain speak with one of the crew. 'Are we far off course, Jaeson?' 'No, I-I think we're _here_.' After hearing this Luck left the jester's side- assumedly to go see if they really were back at the stronghold. Jingles however couldn't bring himself to move just yet. Despite the gentler waves, Jingles still had to lean against the wall for support as he stood on trembling legs. His stomach lurched and he instinctively held a hand over his mouth as he tried to hold back his urge to throw up. As if his body knew it finally could go outside, his legs urgently led the jester outside. He made a beeline to the nearest railing, bent himself over it, and vomited violently into the sea. His stomach pushed out whatever remained of the dinner he had last night and more in a few heaves. Jingles was left spitting and panting after the surge of nausea made it out of his system. He weakly wiped his mouth on his sleeve. The jester still didn't feel very well. His body shivered even though his head burned. Fatigue washed over him and his vision blurred. Jingles vaguely recognized this feeling. He managed to push himself away from the railing before he fainted.

Myles' ship made it into the Island's port without incident and repairs were started immediately by what crew were left to help. The merchant ship was just that after all, so the men aboard were predominantly useless when it came to helping. Many instead spent their time bailing out the hold and checking their cargo for water damage - a large portion of the goods had already been hauled up onto the docks and spread out to dry in the sun of the now-cloudless day. Back in the Captain's cabin, Luck was fussing over Jingles' sleeping form. After having dropped back down the ladder of the ship, Luck had found some of the crew huddled around the Frow's body and some were even making to take off his cowl. Luck stopped them with a few stern words before they'd reached it; knowing how much Jingles valued his beautiful silk costume, he knew removing his hood would freak the poor thing out by the time he woke up. Instead, Luck crouched to pick up his friend and carried him into Myles' cabin where a clear settee made the perfect place to lay his friend while he recovered. It was probably exhaustion at that point that got the best of Jingles, having slept only a few precious hours over the last two days and barely eating. The journey home was just the last straw and Luck could feel the exhaustion of a long, stressful voyage creeping into his own bones as well.

Later thanking Myles for his help, the Captain shook Luck's hand and gave his own thanks for the tiefling's help weathering the storm. Their ship would spend the next day in port here while they dried everything out, then be on their way. Luck briefly wondered what Destane would have to say about a crew coming into the settlement out of nowhere so long _after_ the Moon Festival celebrations, but at this point he was honestly too tired to muster the effort to care.

Luck refused the offers of help from the crew around him and instead carried Jingles back to the main buildings himself. Jingles was light after all, because he was small it wasn't hard at all for Luck to cradle him in his arms rather than sling the drow over his shoulder in an undignified slump. The infirmary was empty when Luck pushed through the doors with one shoulder. Even the nurses seemed to be absent in that moment, so with no one to stop him, Luck took Jingles to a comfortable-looking room and laid his body down over the tops of the sheets of the bed. Jingles stirred as Luck removed his arms, and the tiefling closed the door for privacy.

In his dream, Jingles was back in Tachnir. It was that night Luck had asked him to kill Pyrrhos. Again Jingles looked for the panther man and arrived at his home. He climbed through the window and casted the same fire spell on Pyrrhos. Everything seemed to ignite in flames after the spell went off, and the panther woke up with a roar. Unlike before Pyrrhos pounced onto Jingles. The two wrestled on the ground and exchanged blows. Pyrrhos had the upper hand with his claws and eventually overpowered the jester. He pulled Jingles back to his feet while keeping him restrained in a death grip. Jingles wheezed and coughed at the amount of smoke that was now in the air. Pyrrhos seemed unaffected. No matter how hard he struggled against the panther's grasp, the man didn't let go. "Did you really think I'd let a little _slave_ like you kill me?" Pyrrhos growled into the jester's ear. "Burn in the flames you created, demon!" He dragged Jingles along as he walked directly into the violent fire. Jingles screamed as the flames burned through his costume and scalded his skin. His natural fire resistance did nothing to help. He kicked and writhed against the merciless panther, but his grip did not let up. Despite being in the flames too, Pyrrhos didn't react to the fire at all. Instead he chuckled at the jester's pain. Screams turned into choking coughs and eventually Jingles didn't have enough fight in him to escape. He suffocated on the smoke while being scorched alive. All he could feel was the unbearable heat of the flames and the horrible sensation of his skin being burnt off.

Jingles took in a deep breath as he awoke and began to cough. He sat up during his coughing fit and sniffled after it passed. Jingles felt something wet on his face, but couldn't tell if it was tears or sweat. His body burned with heat and it was evident that he was warmer than usual due to his flushed face. The jester massaged his sore throat a little and looked at his surroundings. He wasn't in Tachnir. He wasn't on fire. He was... actually, Jingles didn't know where he was. This room was unfamiliar to him and he could tell he wasn't on the ship anymore. Luck was in the room. "W-where... are we?" He weakly croaked out a question.

_Where are we?_ A tired, scratchy voice interrupted Luck's train of thought and he looked up to see Jingles had finally woken from his dreams. From the look of the sweat-drenched costume and skewed cowl, they had been nightmares. Luck hadn't been around to see the tossing and turning; after returning to the Island, he'd taken some time to bathe, reconvene with Kuhriisk who had apparently been sunning themselves for three days, and nab a bit of food from his favourite server at the dining hall. "I haven't seen you in _days_ , Luck!" Mia positively squealed when she saw the tiefling come in after his bath dressed in a clean outfit and his old, seen and repaired clover waistcoat. The gold one needed time to dry after the thorough soaking by the sea, and his jacket had been all but abandoned to the launderers in the nearby hall. The salt would take days to scrub out, but the dragonborns seemed happy enough to render that service for him for a few gold so Luck wasn't going to complain.

"I've been busy with the clean up for the Moon Festival," Luck lied, but the girl ate it up without a hint of doubt. "That's no excuse to be missing meals. Sit down and have something!" she pressed his shoulders until he bent and sat at a table by the kitchens and the two had a pleasant chat while Luck downed the breakfast he hadn't realised he was craving. He briefly mentioned Jingles was in the infirmary, having caught a stomach bug (not all together a lie), while they talked about how well the festival had gone over. Luck managed to bluff his way through expertly. Others soon began filling the halls again for lunch as it was approaching midday, so Luck bid farewell to Mia who thrust a small basket his way upon leaving. "Take this for Jingles," she said with a smile. "And tell him to get better. He'll be juggling and somersaulting in no time."

"We're back in the Stronghold now," Luck explained, biting down on the biscuit he'd been nibbling at. They were meant for Jingles, but he couldn't help taking one or two... or six. Jingles wouldn't notice: Mia had filled the basket to the brim with biscuits, bread and jam, and even a hunk of hard cheese, _"For when he can stomach something a bit more than bread"_ she'd explained.

Luck crammed the biscuit into his mouth and struggled to chew as he dusted his hands and came to press his palm against Jingles' forehead. The drow was clammy and his short black hair stuck from his skewed cowl, slick with sweat. "How are you feeling?"

Jingles was a little confused to hear they were back at the stronghold. Where in the stronghold were they then? He knew he hadn't explored the whole place, but it was still strange not to recognize where he was. He didn't notice his cowl was askew until Luck pressed his hand against his forehead. Jingles immediately reached up to adjust it and tuck his hair back in. Luck then asked how he was feeling. The jester was tempted to lie like he usually did, but stopped himself. Instead he took a moment to find the truth. "Hot... tired... gross." Jingles listed off a few words before coughing a few times. He covered his mouth and winced since the coughs hurt his throat. Jingles tried to soothe his throat by massaging it a little. "My throat hurts." He then whispered to try and not agitate his throat further. "How long was I out?" He asked quietly. The last thing Jingles remembered was being on the ship, feeling extremely nauseous, and then throwing up. After that his memory stopped. The jester guessed he must have passed out or something like that.

“Six or eight hours,” the tiefling shrugged his shoulders and sat in the chair by Jingles’ bed. “The nurse looked over you before; she said it was just exhaustion. You should have slept last night…” he trailed off. In hindsight, he was sure Jingles was feeling just how bad of an idea it had been staying up for the better part of two days. The poor thing sounded like he had a hell of a sore throat, and Luck couldn’t help but stare as the drow rubbed at his neck underneath the little ruffle he wore. Luck swallowed hard. “Have some water; it’ll hurt, but you need it. I went looking for some ice before but I couldn’t find a white dragonborn,” the tiefling explained as he handed Jingles a flagon of water. He’d thought the cold might help numb his throat, and he’d need the water to stave off dehydration. Luck was silent for a few minutes while he gently cut at the loaf of bread in Mia’s basket and spread a thin layer of jam across the slice. “Open,” he instructed, holding the slice in front of Jingles’ face. “Thank you again, Jingles,” Luck spoke up, looking up from his lap at the drow. “You did a great thing for me- _us_ back in Tachnir. I’m sorry I hurt you before…” he waved a hand in the rough direction of the chapel, alluding to the terrible fight they’d had weeks before. The thought alone made the deep puncture on his hip twinge with pain. It was a permanent reminder of what he’d done, and what he deserved for it. “I’m glad you’re on my side… glad we’re _together_.”

It was a relief to hear that he hadn't lost days while he was out. Jingles frowned when Luck lightly scolded him for not sleeping last night. "Thank you..." He hesitantly took the water. He knew it would hurt to swallow but... he was thirsty. The jester decided to just deal with it and downed over half the water in one go. It felt like he was swallowing glass, but the pain became a little more bearable the more water he drank. He rubbed his throat a little more as he watched Luck spread some jam on a piece of bread. 'Open.' Jingles protested at first. "But I'm not- ..." He sighed and took a bite of the bread willingly. It stung going down, but he hadn't realized how hungry he was too. After the first bite he took the bread out of Luck's hands and fed himself. Jingles glanced at Luck when the man thanked him. "I'm sorry I misjudged and tried to kill you... _twice_." He whispered. He honestly felt bad and was surprised that Luck even wanted to be anywhere near him after those two incidents and take care of him. The jester would have blushed at Luck's last comment if his face wasn't already flushed. He wondered if Luck meant 'together' as friends or allies... or did he mean something else? "I'm glad I can trust you." Jingles said with a smile.


End file.
